𝐌𝐘 𝐂𝐀𝐍𝐃𝐘 𝐑𝐀𝐈𝐍 | 𝖩𝗈𝖻𝖾 𝖡𝖾𝗅𝗅𝗂𝗇𝗀𝗁𝖺𝗆

¹⁰. 𝗇𝗈𝗍 𝗌𝗈 𝗌𝗁𝗒 𝗃𝗈𝖻𝖾?

━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━ 𝖠𝖫𝖤𝖷 𝖵𝖠𝖫𝖤

JOBE'S GIGGLES ECHOED through the phone as he tried to tell me a joke he hadn't even said yet. He was lying on his bed, snuggled in his blanket, looking way too comfortable for someone who was supposed to be a professional athlete.

This was our second FaceTime call, and he'd randomly called me in the afternoon, probably because he had nothing better to do than talk to me. I wasn't complaining, though. He had a way of making everything feel easy and fun.

I had work later that night, but honestly, I'd rather stay home, alone, just talking to Jobe. The thought of having to leave this conversation for a shift didn't sit well with me.

Jobe was being extra talkative today, filling the silence with stories and random thoughts. I didn't mind; I was barely talking, just nodding along and letting him carry the conversation. His voice had this effortless charm, like it could make even the most mundane things sound interesting.

And his laugh? It was something else—soft, genuine, and warm. It sounded like music to me, the kind of melody you'd want to replay over and over. I didn't say much, but in moments like this, I didn't have to. Listening to him was more than enough.

"Rubbing my feet together because I'm home and can finally rest without practice," Jobe said, his smile peeking through as he pulled the blanket up to cover his mouth.

"Shut up, I have work later," I shot back, sinking further into the couch, trying to ignore how comfortable he looked compared to me.

He chuckled softly, the sound making me grin despite myself. "Trade places with me then," he teased. "You can deal with running drills, and I'll serve tables for the night. How about that?"

I snorted. "Yeah, right. You'd last five minutes before running back to your precious blanket."

Jobe tilted his head, pretending to think. "I don't know... I might actually be great at it. Charming the customers, balancing trays—sounds easy."

"Sure, Mr. World-Class Athlete," I said, rolling my eyes. "You'd trip over yourself trying to carry a tray of waters."

"Hey!" he protested, laughing now. "I'm coordinated, okay? I can handle it."

"Okay, Jobe," I said, my tone dripping with sarcasm. "I'll be sure to save you a spot when you retire from football."

He shook his head, the blanket slipping a bit to reveal his full smile. "Alright, alright, I get it. You don't think I can do your job. But I still think I'd do better than you on the field."

I raised an eyebrow. "I wouldn't last five seconds. I'm not even gonna argue that."

"Exactly," he said smugly, leaning back into his pillow. "So maybe you should be a little nicer to me."